It started with a murmur,​
a low hum blown by coastal winds.​
The insistence of waves was static​
grown grey in the dusk.​Zumbadorcito and Bien-te-veo​
approach, straining to hear.​
Apophanies are gained and lost.​
​
It grew in volume:​
explicit asemic annunciation.​
The wind was ecstatic,​
throwing sand and salt onto every surface.​
Unreliable narrators stood, hands clasped,​
throwing sounds into the sky.​
​
I want to know the difference​
between null and undefined.​
Variables distinct and obscured,​
a blur of symbols.​
​
“Let us go down and confound their language,​
that they may not understand one another’s speech.”​
Now: keening. A broken sound played​
through broken lips.​
Lips that they must use in prayer,​
lest faith turn to despair.​
10,000 words without interpretation,​
and always the wind rushing.​
A sigil sent into the darkness​
signifying unspeakable impulses.​
​
The satisfaction comes from unknowing.​
Messages sprout wings,​
wheel across the archipelago,​
pierce the stillness of the mists,​
and mount the slopes of El Yunque.